


The Cottage That Andrew Built

by DixieDale



Series: The Enchanted Forest [6]
Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:29:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: "If you're gonna wish for something, you might as well make it a really GOOD wish, you know.  I mean, just in case your wish comes true."  As stated by one Andrew Carter.





	The Cottage That Andrew Built

The air was warm and sweetly-scented, the birds were singing in the trees, no one was chasing them or shooting at them - all in all, it was a pretty good day so far, even with them being stuck out of camp for the next several hours.

"Well, at least the Colonel has a plan in place so Klink won't get freaked out about us not getting back in time for roll call, since there's no way we can sneak back into camp til after it gets full dark, and after last roll call, and all the activity dies down." Andrew Carter said cheerily as they walked along the path in the forest. "And the job went really, really good, and Rene was real happy, too."

"That's all well and good, Andrew, but it would be nice if WE 'ad a plan in place to find something to eat and a safe place to stay, maybe 'ave ourselves a nice little nap. Been on the go since two nights ago, and I, for one, am more than a bit knackered," came from the weary Peter Newkirk, nibbling at some god-awful mushrooms and bits of rubbery stuff Andrew had sworn was edible lichens {"whatever the bloody 'ell 'lichens' are! Sides nasty tasting things, acourse. Probably French; bet Louie would go bonkers for them! 'Ope Andrew don't think to tell 'im about them; we'll end up with them on the dinner plate for sure."}

He sighed, "it's times like these I wish we knew where Olsen 'oles up w'en 'e's on one a 'is little excursions outside, you know. Maybe 'e'd 'ave a nice little cot we could borrow for the day, maybe even just a bit of floor with a blanket would be nice."

"Well, there's reasons we DON'T know that, Peter," Andrew scolded gently. "It wouldn't be safe for him or for us. And besides, if you're gonna wish for something, you might as well make it a really GOOD wish, you know. I mean, just in case your wish comes true, and then look how silly you'd feel, wishing for something little when you could have wished for something that you really, really wanted, something really nice and gotten that instead. Why, I remember the time I asked for a coloring book for my birthday. Well, what I REALLY wanted was a puppy, but I figured I'd better be realistic, like my dad was always telling me I wasn't but should be, so I asked for a coloring book, and I got one, but then my dad said he'd been going to get me a puppy, but since I'd seemed to have my heart set on a coloring book . . ."

"Andrew, just shut up, will you? You're giving me a bloody 'eadache!" Newkirk groaned.

Andrew gave a sheepish grin, "sorry."

The silence lasted a good four minutes, which was about two more than Newkirk had honestly expected it to last. In fact, he'd been getting a little nervous that last minute, just waiting for the chatter to start up again. Andrew talking was nerve-racking enough, but a silent Andrew? That just meant Andrew was thinking too hard to talk at the same time, and he'd had enough experience to know just how unsettling the result of THAT could be. He'd had to work pretty hard to hide the grin that greeted Andrew's next outburst of chatter.

"Well, I just meant, instead of wishing for a cot or a blanket, let's wish for a little house with a bedroom and a comfortable bed and a kitchen with maybe a pot of soup and some fresh bread." He frowned, "no, this is a forest; I guess wishing for a cottage would be better. It would fit in better, don't you think, Peter? All the stories seem to talk about a little cottage in the woods, or a little hut in the woods; I don't seem to remember all that many that talk about a little house. It's probably better to use the right words if we want to make it all happen. At least that's what I've always heard. Magic depends a lot on making sure you're wishing for the right things, what you really, really want, using the right words, the right motions, the right ingredients in a spell, all of that. Even just THINKING about what you really want, not just what you think you could settle for, not just what you're willing to admit out loud that you want. "

(The forest had to consider that; this wasn't the first human with some knowledge of magic, some feeling for its mysteries, who'd come within its borders in recent times, and with each one it remembered just a little more from its dim past. It had been so very long since that had happened, the contact, it had forgotten how interesting the interaction could sometimes be. Interesting, and sometimes exciting, as the last few episodes had proven. Now, with this latest human, it remembered it could also sometimes be quite amusing.)

Newkirk thought about issuing another directive for silence, but decided it would take longer to do that than the resulting silence would last. Anyway, what harm could it do to play along with Andrew? He enjoyed the back-and-forth they got into, though he'd have bitten his tongue before telling Andrew, or heaven help him, any of the guys that. It would ruin his whole image, he was sure.

"Alright, Andrew. So, we wish for a little cottage with a comfortable bed and some food. Now w'at? We close our eyes, turn around three times, click our 'eels, and say a magic word? W'at comes next?"

Andrew was getting excited now. It wasn't often he could get Peter to play his games with him, but it was always fun, in one way or another, when he could. The rangy Englishman presented such an outward picture of world-weary jaded pessimism, but Andrew was sure there was someone else inside, someone eager for a little magic in his life. Well, look at how Newkirk kept talking and acting like he was a hard, cowardly, care-for-nobody, looking out just for himself kind of guy, when ANYONE should have been able to see that he wasn't ANY of that! Well, Andrew sure didn't have any trouble seeing it, that's for sure! {"Wow! This is going to be such fun!!!"}

"Shucks, no! Now we WORK for what we want! Now we BUILD that cottage!"

"Andrew," came out as a long-suffering sigh.

"No, come on, I'll show you! It'll be fun! I promise!"

So Newkirk patiently (well, almost patiently) did as he was instructed, gathering branches of various sizes from the forest floor, any stones he could find, bringing them over to a spot about a hundred feet from that rather intriguing pond. (He was sure this wasn't the same pond Kinch and Louie had told them about, because there wasn't anything scary about this one at all. It was actually very pleasant looking.)

"Now w'at, Andrew. That bed almost ready? Because I 'ave to tell you, I'm ready for a good bit of a kip."

"Not yet, Peter. See, now we build the walls." 

Newkirk watched with concealed amusement as an enthusiastic Andrew Carter used the branches to lay out the outline of the 'walls' of this 'cottage' they were building. 

"See, here's the door from the outside, and here's the front room. It has the fireplace right there; I marked it out with the stones for the hearth. That's where our soup will cook, you know. And here's the entrance to the bedroom. I'll use these pine needles to outline where the bed is. Come on, we need to gather some water in this big cup I found, and I found this big rounded out stone that will be our kettle, and this slab of wood will be our breadboard, and oh, lots of other things. Come on, Peter, hurry! I can just taste that soup already! Have you ever heard of stone soup? My mom told me about it, and she said it's the best! Well, maybe not as good as what LeBeau makes, and probably not as good as mom's chicken and noodle soup, but still, she says it's really good! . . . . . . . ."

Newkirk, by now, was thoroughly enjoying watching Andrew play whatever game he was playing. I mean, if he couldn't eat, and couldn't sleep, didn't have his cards with him or even a spare cigarette, at least he could enjoy whatever came his way to provide a little amusement, right? And besides, if he squinted just right, he could almost see thin, shimmery walls where Andrew pointed out they should be.

The water had been fetched, along with a few odds and ends of supposedly edibles that Andrew had gathered. 

{"More mushrooms, different kinds, more of those bloody lichens, wild onions, and a few things I'm probably better off not knowing what they are,"} Newkirk mused, as he watched a very focused Andrew use his pocket knife to cut the various items into pieces, put them in that hollowed out stone, and cover them with water from the pond. {"Probably end up spending the next week in the latrine, from all that. And there being no fire, not that we could light one anyway for fear someone would smell the smoke, it's just going to be lots of odd stuff soaked in water stead of lots of odd stuff NOT soaked in water, but whatever."}. 

Somehow, he had gotten way more involved in Andrew's game than he'd intended, and was finding himself surprisingly agreeable to whatever Andrew suggested. {"I'll 'ave to watch that, not a 'abit I need to be falling into, not with 'IS imagination! Find myself in all kinds of trouble, I expect."}

He sat on the ground with his back to one of those imaginary walls, watching Andrew putter around with this and that, letting himself halfway doze. Eventually he leaned back, relaxing into the solid support of the wall behind him, wriggling his shoulder muscles in relief.

"Hey, it's ready, Peter. Come on, there's only one spoon, but since there's only one bowl, that's okay. We'll share, you take a spoon-ful, then I will and back and forth. It'll be fun!"

Newkirk took a bite of the hot, savory soup, alternating with a bite of the warm chewy bread. "Bloody 'ell, Andrew," he said, "that's amazing! You'll 'ave to teach Louie 'ow to make that, instead of that godawful fish stew 'e keeps trying to convince us is edible!" And it WAS good, and between them they finished it to the last drop. Sighing with contentment, Andrew sat the bowl and spoon aside.

"Come on, let's go get some sleep. We'll have to head back to camp after dark, but that's hours away. I know I sure could use a nap, what about you?"

Getting a drowsy smile and nod in return, he tugged the Englishman to his feet, and with a little chuckle, urged him into the bedroom and helped him off with his boots and jacket.

"You can have that side of the bed, I'll take this side. There's just the one big pillow, but we can share. But there's plenty of covers," and there were, Newkirk noted, pulling that soft top quilt just a little higher up under his neck. Soon they were both fast asleep.

The air grew hushed around them, and even the sound of birdcalls in the forest grew muted, and the cottage walls held out anything that could disturb their slumber, and the gauzy curtains over the windows seemed to filter the light just right.

Newkirk roused slightly to the sensation of warm lips caressing his, gentle hands tracing his outlines, hands that seemed to know just what he liked, and he smiled slightly, moving just enough to give those hands better access. In his sleep, his mind had to acknowledge, {"if yer gonna 'ave a dream, might as well be a nice one!"} and settled back to enjoy what was turning into a very nice dream indeed.

Carter frowned slightly, not sure what had pulled him from his deepest sleep, then smiled as he drifted off again into an even deeper slumber. {"Oh, yeah. That would be way cool, wouldn't it? He'd never let me get away with anything like that when he was awake, but wouldn't it be really neat??! I mean, if we were both asleep, but maybe not totally, but if he still let me kiss him, touch him, if he'd maybe kiss me back, maybe . . . . He'd kick me all the way back to camp if I really DID any of that, but there's no harm in THINKING about doing it, is there??"}, his sleepy mind exploring new possibilities.

He chuckled in his sleep and lazily shifted his position and sighed with pleasure, now facing Newkirk on the wide comfortable bed. In fact, not only were they facing each other, they were only a hair's distance away from each other, then not even that. Still, they slumbered. Well, their minds did, anyway, no matter how awake the rest of them might have been, and that was debatable.

And still, the cottage guarded and protected them, although now with a slight air of gentle amusement, perhaps even a tiny bit of mischief, evident. 

It even guarded them from the visitor who'd come to the edge of the clearing and stopped, shocked, at the sight of the small cottage where there hadn't been one the week before. Colin Olsen was stunned, but then got a thoughtful look on his face. {"The next time Karl has some time off and I'm on outside duty, I'll have to bring him and show him this."} For now, though, he'd leave; he could somehow tell the cottage was occupied and he wouldn't be welcome.

 

Newkirk stifled a yawn, opened his eyes and blinked rapidly upon finding a sleeping Andrew curled up in his arms. {"Bloody 'ell!"} His rapidly returning consciousness became uncomfortably aware of, well, of a whole lot of things, none of which he'd anticipated.

{"BLOODY 'ELL, Andrew!"} flushing, wondering how he was to face his younger team mate, wondering just how out of line he'd gotten with the rather naive young man. Obviously more than a little, from the evidence! Well, maybe not; maybe it had been just a really (REALLY!) good (steamy 'ot!) dream!

He shifted uncomfortably, knowing he'd have a little cleanup to do over at that pond before they headed back to camp. Well, at least he was still fully dressed; that was something.

Funny, you'd think sleeping on the bare ground would have left him stiff and sore, but he felt like he'd spent the past few hours on a comfy mattress; he wasn't even chilled! He flushed, realizing just how lovely and warm he actually felt, wondering once again what had been dream and what had been reality. {"Nah, 'ad to 'ave been a dream!"}

Andrew awoke to the feeling of strong arms holding him, and smiled to himself knowing it was Peter. He always felt safe and comfortable when Peter held him, whether because he was maybe scared and couldn't sleep, or when he'd had a nightmare, or when he'd been hurt, or, well, just about anytime. It was kinda nice to know it felt even better when it WASN'T when he'd been sick or hurt or had a nightmare or any of that stuff. It was nice to know it was just when . . . . Andrew froze, {"when WHAT?? I mean, I just imagined all that, right? We didn't really, I mean, he would never have let me, I mean, well, really, WOULD he have?!"} 

Slowly Andrew opened his eyes, to see more than a little panic-stricken blue-green eyes staring down at him. Somehow, that look just shouted 'oh, bloody 'ell', without Peter saying a word, and Andrew found himself grinning and giving what some people might uncharitably have called a giggle.

"Hi, Peter. Did you have as nice a nap as I did?? I had the nicest dreams!" And that look just got more and better, and Andrew's giggle was now a somewhat knowing laugh, that getting a suspicious and reproving frown from his team mate.

They were leaving the clearing, and Peter turned to take one look back at that spot, still outlined so clearly with branches, a small rectangle of stones marking out what would have been a fireplace; from there he couldn't see the sprinkling of pine needles that had outlined that bed, but he could picture them in his mind. "Andrew . . ." he started to say, then realized he didn't have a clue WHAT to say.

He cleared his throat, then finally a reluctant grin came to his face, "I 'ave to say, when you make a wish, you really do go for the big time! Seem to 'ave quite a knack for it, even."

"Well, like I told you, Peter, there's no sense asking for a coloring book when you could ask for what you really wanted, now is there?" and the look on Andrew Carter's face was the most amazing combination of total wicked glee and innocent wonder that Newkirk had ever seen. 

{"I don't know if I'll ever figure 'im out, and it's probably best I never do. Probably scare me out of a good twenty years of my life, it would!"}

 

"A cottage? And it is new?" Karl Langenscheidt asked.

"Yeah. One week it wasn't there, then it was. This way . . . " and Colin froze, seeing only the pond and the clearing.

"I swear, Karl, it was there!"

"Come, let us look closer," Karl said, and they walked closer.

"Yes, I see. Look, there is the outline, the doorway. Come, let us see what is inside." Karl suggested, and Colin looked at him like he was nuts.

"Inside? Karl . . ."

And Langenscheidt had given that low laugh that Colin liked so much, "you are looking with your eyes, your logic. You must look with your heart, your soul. See, here are the walls, here is the doorway. Come . . ."

And Colin followed Karl in through the 'doorway', into the 'cottage', and somehow he could almost see a wispy outline of walls. 

"I will fetch some water from the pond to drink, we will sit and imagine how the cottage would look, see what is here, yes? I have sandwiches as well. We will sit and eat and pretend; see what stories the cottage has to tell us."

Colin sat with his back to one of those imaginary walls, waited til Karl came back and started to drowse, just a little. He roused to eat and drink, leaning back against the strong support of the wall behind him, and listened while Karl told him yet another of the wonderful tales he could tell.

The air grew hushed around them, and even the sound of birdcalls in the forest grew muted, and the cottage walls held out anything that could disturb them. And soon, they decided a shared nap would be a pleasant thing, especially with that big bed in the next room, with its soft mattress and big pillow and soft quilts. And still, the cottage guarded and protected them, although now with a slight air of gentle amusement evident, even a trace of mischief.

And when they awoke . . .


End file.
